WARNINGS: Lots of humor, double entendres,
a tiny smattering of violence, and a few bad
words.

Rating: PG

Main characters: Vin, Chris, Buck, OFC

Category: Comedy H/C

In the crisp, clear
night, the man drove down the rural highway at a
slow pace. Ice formed and created slick sheets on
the roads, turning the driving treacherous. The
frost already started, coating windshields,
guardrails, street signs, and anything else it
could. Visibility went as far as the trees and
fields allowed, as the stars winked down from the
heavens, creating a rustic scene designed for a
holiday card.

The man
checked the clock in his dashboard, concentrated
on it, focused on it, and believed it read three
fourteen in the morning. When he looked back up
at the road, he noticed he had drifted a little
too close to the shoulder, and the snow-coated
grass lining the edge of the pavement told him he
didn't want to go over there. He adjusted the
wheel, slid a bit, and went into the other lane
before he
recovered.

Breathing
heavily, he chastised himself, and forced his
concentration back on driving. Looking out the
windshield, he searched for the yellow line down
the center of the road, and made sure it was under
the middle of his car. Nothing was coming, so he
figured he was safe.

Until his
head started to spin, his brain telling his body
that there was entirely too much alcohol floating
around the system, and the center yellow stripe
quadrupled. He couldn't tell which one of the
four was the right one, so he aimed for the middle
of all of them. Satisfied, he kept his speed down
below the speed limit, just in case there happened
to be a police officer nearby.

He couldn't
afford another arrest for Driving While
Intoxicated (DWI); he'd barely gotten out of jail
time on his third charge. He'd done his thousand
hours of community service, and he didn't want to
clean or paint anything again. Judge Habernacle
told him if he were caught one more time, he'd
definitely go to jail for the maximum amount of
time allotted under law. The Judge also said it
would be worse for him if he was in an accident;
he'd been lucky so far, and had been picked up by
friends and family before anything bad happened.

The man kept
telling himself to concentrate on the road, he was
driving just fine, and the four sets of yellow
lines kept him centered in the middle of the
highway. He navigated the sharp, nearly
ninety-degree curve perfectly, congratulating
himself, but during his short 'whoo-hoo',
something appeared a short distance ahead of the
car in the rural straightaway.

It was a
buck – an enormous buck - with three heads, and a
fourteen-point rack on each head, standing
straight and tall, on all four sets of yellow
lines. It was big, and it didn't move. The
massive heads stared at him, and all six eyes
reflected back at him because of the headlights.
"MUTANT!" he yelled, his foot slamming down hard
on the brake pedal.

It was
written in a book of physics somewhere. It was
boldly printed in driver's handbooks and vehicle
owner's manuals, if anyone would bother to read
them: wheels, brakes, and ice do not mix. Having
applied the brakes hard on a slick, frozen
surface, the wheels lost traction, locked, and
slid. He screamed as the car went out of his
control, no matter how hard he wrenched the wheel,
and then he passed the unmoving, still-staring
mutant deer, continuing off the road and stopping
in a large, gradually deepening ditch on the side
of the highway.
The front end of the car crumpled inward, with the
back pointed toward the sky, and the wheels
continued to rotate because the car was in gear.
A pair of red taillights brightened the dark
night, and the strangled death throes of the
engine covered nature's sounds.

The buck was
frightened by the loud noises, and when he was
released from the blinding lights, he bolted to
safety across the road and into the field on the
opposite side from the car. He stopped to stare
back at the mess, then continued through the field
until he found his family and joined them for a
snack.

Inside the
car, the man heaved several deep breaths, and it
seemed a new question popped into his mind with
each indrawn gasp.

"Am I dead?"
he whispered.

Two breaths
told him he was alive.

"Am I hurt?"

He listened
to his brain, the organ he'd been ignoring the
entire night while drinking, and it told him he
wasn't feeling any pain. Or was that the booze
talking?

"The car."

He put the
car in Park, not that it mattered at this point,
and turned it off before it shook itself apart
from the water in the engine. He grabbed the keys
and shoved them in his pocket.

"Can I get
out?"

He tried the
door, and it opened. He stepped out, right into
the water lining the bottom of the ditch. The
thin layer of ice on top broke under his weight,
sending his feet into the water, stopping two feet
down.

"Cold, cold,
cold!" The man high-stepped his way across the
three-foot wide bottom of the ditch, up the bank,
and then stared at the slick road. The buck was
gone, making him wonder if he imagined it. He
figured he'd walk until he found a house, or
someone came along. Shaking out his cold, wet,
feet, he shuffled onto the highway, and took the
first step toward his own residence. He thought
there was a farmhouse not too far ahead.

Wrapping his
arms around his body as he shivered, the wet, cold
denim stiffened against his legs and rubbed the
chilled skin beneath raw. That last drink must
have helped him because he was still moving and he
didn't hurt that much. But it was cold. He
debated whether or not walking was a good idea,
because he had a warm car sitting over there. He
could stay there until someone noticed him. Of
course, the odds were against that because of the
time of night, and the fact it was still
winter didn't help. After the curve, it was all
wide-open ranch and farmland on either side of the
pavement. Houses were few and far between in this
secluded part of Outer East, and everyone went to
bed with the chickens.

While he
debated, he heard the sound of a car engine, and
four lights broke the darkness. A car! He
practically ran out into the highway, and then
decided that was a bad idea. There really wasn't
too much of a shoulder, only enough flat ground
for a car to be half off the road without risking
going into the ditch. Standing right on the edge
of the flat ground, he waved his arms and jumped
up and down.

The car
slowed even more than it was doing already,
bringing it significantly closer to him. He heard
the tires slip one second before he knew he was
too close to the car. "NO!"

Out of
control, the heavy car slid right into him,
launched him across the ditch, and he landed hard
against something that held him upright. He
couldn't move.

The car
continued into the ditch, stopping right beside
his own, nose down, rear up.

This driver,
however, obviously was not planning to stick
around, and threw the car into reverse. Geysers
of water and mud erupted from under the front
tires resting in the bottom of the ditch, and the
nose of the car sank further into the muck, taking
the tires with it. The side effect was that water
and mud sprayed the man, and he was now wet and
muddy all over, along with being unable to move.

"Stop it!"
he yelled at the driver of the car.

The driver
didn't hear him, trying to back out of the ditch
again. It was then he recognized the car.

"STOP IT, YA
BIMBO!"

A few
minutes later, the driver stopped, opened the
door, and looked down at the mud mix. "Ew. I'm
not getting out."

"Come get me
down, ya bimbo."

The woman
stared at him blearily, and he remembered she had
drunk more than him at the bar. She finally
yelled, "Shut up, asshole."

"I'm
covering for him tonight; he went to the bar, and
he's in no condition to drive a truck."

"Meaning
Harvey and Bertrice are worse." The night
operator sighed, having received calls like this
from the couple before.

"You know
what to do."

"I feel
bad. It's Harold's family."

"And his
life, Ruthie. If any of us yank them out and let
them drive knowing they're drunk, he'll lose his
towing license. He loses that, he loses
everything. Then we lose our jobs."

"I know."

"He told you
to do it, Ruthie. Now, give me the location."

"Highway
Seven, by the McClarran farm--"

"The
McClarrans own thousands of acres on Highway
Seven."

"Did you let
me finish? Just past the sharp curve."

"Oh man!
You said they're both in a ditch?"

"Yup."

"Separate
cars?"

"Yup."

"Must have
been too drunk to drive on the ice out there.
Seven's bad for it." His sigh came through the
line. "I'm on it, and I'll have Ricky come with
me, bringing the rollback. So if they both need
it, we've got the equipment there."

The
dispatcher knew that the rollback was the tow
truck with the long, flat back on it that sat a
car on all four wheels on the bed, and allowed for
towing a second if properly connected. Knowing
the size of both vehicles, it was better than a
tow truck with a hook on the back. "All right.
I'll call and tell them."

"Don't
forget the other call; I'll take my time getting
there."

"I hate
this."

"I know,
Ruthie."

"Four
Corners Police Department, how may I help you?"
Casey Wells answered the telephone with the
standard greeting, wondering why this person
wasn't in bed at three fifty in the morning like
most normal people. The police dispatcher was
prepared for just about anything that could be
said to her.

"Hi, Casey.
It's Ruthie from Harold's Towing."

"Hi,
Ruthie. What's up?" Casey relaxed. She knew the
speaker, the caller didn't sound rushed, and if
the call started with just an introduction,
usually it wasn't that bad.

"I've got an
accident to report, and I want this to be
anonymous, okay?"

"Sure,"
Casey agreed, going back on alert.

"We just got
a call from Bertrice Henderson. She and her
husband both wrecked on Highway Seven, after the
sharp curve, near the McClarran farm."

"He's doing
the right thing, Ruthie. Both of you are. Tell
him we said that."

Ruthie
laughed. "He'd hate to see anyone hurt, or lose
his business because of them. Judge Habernacle
warned Harold that he'd lose his tow license if he
let them drive drunk after pulling them out
again. So, they're in separate cars, I don't know
if anyone's hurt, and two of my trucks are going.
The drivers are going to take their time, though,
to give y'all the chance to get there."

"Good.
We'll send someone out there."

"Tell them
to be careful; Seven gets really icy."

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Casey
disconnected, and started typing in the computer.
Since they had so many accidents right past the
sharp curve on Highway Seven, Casey pulled up the
highway list, and selected that location. She
sent the call via computer to Ladonna, her
dispatch partner. "They're gonna have fun with
that."

"The
Hendersons? Again? Wouldn't this be, like, his
fourth DWI?"

"Yeah. I'm
pulling up their driving records now. She's not
too far behind; this might be her third." Casey
stared at the screen, and then sent the driving
records to the printer. "They both have their
licenses revoked because of too many DWI's, and
let's add to the joy with the Medical Advisory
Board slapping an indefinite alcohol restriction."

"Great. And
guess who goes."

"Vin and
Nina."

"Yup.
Rookies get all calls. I'll send Buck as backup,
just because those two can be a handful."

Casey joked,
"Vin and Nina, or Harvey and Bertrice?"

"Yes."
Ladonna laughed. "FC, 11-05, 11-02, channel
four." She told them to go to the non-published
radio channel number four, where they could speak
without the public hearing them. This would
prevent any scanner hounds from listening in on
the dispatch.

"11-05 on
four." Vin's raspy voice answered immediately.

"11-02."
Buck's tones followed on the requested channel.

"Report to
Highway Seven, just past the sharp curve near the
McClarran farm. Reference two vehicles in the
ditch, possible result of a DWI accident,
anonymous complainant advised use caution due to
ice."

Ladonna
said, "11-05, 11-02, the trucks are giving you the
time to get there first. Night dispatcher for
Harold's wants to be anonymous. Also, both
parties are revoked and have alcohol restrictions
on their licenses."

"We'll make
it look like we're just rollin' up. Buck, take
yer sweet time getting there, and I'll call ya on
the air ta make it look good." Vin's Texas accent
came through clearly.

"10-4.
11-02's going back to channel one."

"I hate the
Hendersons." Sitting in the passenger seat of her
patrol car, Corporal Nina Caswell scrubbed the
heels of her hands against her eyes.

"Never dealt
with them."

"That's
because you haven't had the pleasure of being on
the road long enough, Rookie." Nina smiled at the
tall, lean Probationary Officer driving her car.

"Reckon
that's so, Corporal." The way he stressed
Corporal came across as an insult.

"Shove the
rank crap, Vin, we've know each other too long.
Makes me feel old every time you say it. Besides,
you know rookies get abused." She pushed his arm.

"Yes. All
men with more rank than me, telling me that
spending twelve hour shifts trapped in my car, not
driving, training you, was a good idea."

"I ain't
complainin'."

She looked
over at him. "I'm not either, Vin. Seriously, I
don't mind. If I minded, I wouldn't be training.
And it gives us the chance to catch up on
everything."

Vin smiled.
"Yup. So, are ya gonna give in ta Bucklin and go
out on a date with him again?"

"I don't
know."

"He loves
ya, sis. Ya can see it in his eyes, his face,
anytime he looks at ya."

"I know."
She grew quiet.

"Y'all have
some history."

"Quite a
bit."

"And I think
ya got some pretty strong feelings for him."

"You're
right again. Wait - mark that down. Right twice
in one day. Where's your evaluation?" Nina
started rooting through her metal clipboard.

Vin ignored
that comment, sticking to the topic he knew she
was trying to avoid. "He wants another chance."

"Yeah."
Quietly, she closed the clipboard, returning it to
its spot.

"So, what do
ya think?"

"I don't
know. I really don't know. Trusting men's hard."

Vin reached
over and squeezed her hand. "I know. Figure
we're due a little happiness. Grab it where ya
can."

Nina
returned the squeeze. "Thanks, Vin. Now, why are
you so pro-Buck?"

"He makes ya
smile, sis. Don't see many of those, and I can
see ya care for him. That's all. Just want ya ta
smile more often."

She looked
at the man who saved her life a few short years
before. He'd done his share of suffering too, but
he was taking the time to check on her. "I ever
tell you how lucky I am to know you?"

"Reckon it
goes both ways. Now, don't get all misty-eyed on
me, woman. I'm trying ta drive on ice, here, and
I ain't gonna wreck. The poor suckers who wreck
get tortured the rest of their careers, and I
don't aim ta be one of them. 'Specially as a
Probationary Officer."

"Let me give
you the bad news. Wrecks happen at any time, to
anyone."

"True.
Speaking of crashes and burns, ya gonna say yes
one of these times when Buck's tryin' his best?"

"I'll play
it by ear. Go with my gut."

Vin rolled
his eyes. "Gut or…?"

She hit him
in the shoulder. "Eyes on the road, Rookie, and
watch out for the ice. We're coming up on the
curve."

"Ya ain't
answering."

"I don't
plan to answer." They came out of the curve
easily.

Tanner
laughed, keeping close watch on the ice. "Well,
look at that."

"Unbelievable." Nina shook her head. "Make sure
you get this on the camera, and park so we can
continue taping."

"I know,
Corporal. That camera's brand spankin' new, and
we're supposed ta use it ta prove it wins cases.
Then we can buy more of them."

"Exactly.
How in the hell did they do that?"

The patrol
car slowly passed the accident scene, and then
neatly turned around in the middle of the road to
park on the opposing shoulder, at just the right
angle so the camera picked up everything. What it
captured was a bizarre scene.

Two cars,
one a older model Cadillac Deville, and the other
a Lincoln Continental, were nose first inside the
ditch. Both had their long back ends pointed
toward the road, and the front ends on both were
smashed and buried in the water at the bottom of
the ditch. The Continental was buried further and
it was unoccupied.

Closest to
the patrol car, the other driver was suspended
with his arms out, looking like a scarecrow on a
pole. His heavy coat was entangled in the barbed
wire fence he was stuck to, and both officers
realized he probably had barbs in his skin. He
was covered from head to foot in mud and water.

The woman
was tugging on the man's coat, trying to free him,
but only succeeded in creating openings in the
coat to allow the down feather lining to flutter
freely around the pair. Dirty feathers floated
like a cloud around their torsos, sticking to the
mud. His face was twisted into a grimace,
worsening with every one of her tugs.

"I hate the
Hendersons," Nina mumbled. "But they're so funny
at times." She kept her chuckles behind her
hands, and her face tipped down so if the couple
looked in the patrol car, all they could see was
the Stetson hat.

"I'm
spotlighting them." Vin reached for the line of
switches in the center console, intent on
brightening the night. First, he turned on the
A-frame spotlight on the driver's door, shining it
at the legs of the couple, lighting up the area.
Next, he turned on the overheads. Red and blue
flashed off the white snow, creating more light,
along with announcing their presence if the couple
had not noticed. He flicked on the left alley; a
white light located near the bottom of the light
bar, and it provided more illumination in the
direction of the accident.

"Are ya done
gigglin'?" Vin asked Nina.

"Mmm-hmm.
Have you called us arrived?"

"Waitin' fer
ya ta stop laughin'."

"I'm done."

"Uh-huh."
Vin reached for his lapel mike. "11-05, FC." He
called FC, the station's call sign.

"11-05, go
ahead."

"We're out
with an accident on Highway Seven just past the
sharp curve. Will advise further momentarily."
He said it this way to make it appear they came up
on it by chance, instead of receiving the call
through their dispatch center, all to protect the
tow company. The dispatch on the non-published
channel four prevented the public from hearing
that there was an accident at that location.

"10-4,
11-05. 11-02, are you direct?" Ladonna called
Buck officially for backup.

"11-02's en
route."

Vin stepped
out of the patrol car, careful not to slip on the
ice, and watched Nina work her way around the
front of the car.

She stopped
at the edge of the car, looking down to make sure
he parked with the tires pointed out like he was
supposed to, grinned at him, and finally clicked
on her microphone. Nina ignored his glare at her
check of the tires. "Corporal Nina Caswell and
Officer Vin Tanner on location of a dual
accident. One male subject appears to be caught
on barbed wire fence, while the female subject is
trying to free him. From previous dealings with
this couple, this officer recognizes
them as Bertrice and Harvey Henderson. We will
lay out a flare line." Nina opened her trunk,
grabbing a handful of flares.

Nina passed
some to Vin because they did not want to take the
chance of someone not paying attention, driving
through, and wrecking because they were staring at
the accident, instead of and not focusing on the
slippery road. The corporal went a short distance
behind her car, set up a line stretching back to
show there was a problem, and that nearing drivers
should slow down. Vin repeated the process at
the other end.

The officers
approached slowly, a little distance apart,
watching the couple carefully. They reached the
edge of the ditch, both trying to maintain a
serious demeanor.

Nina spoke
quietly into her lapel mike. "11-08, FC."

"11-08."

"Locate and
hold copies of the driving records for Bertrice
and Harvey Henderson."

"Shut up,
you asshole. I'm trying to get you down. Who's
that?" Bertrice squinted in the direction of the
lights. "I can't see a damn thing because of all
those lights. Go get your bolt cutters, get him
down, and then when our tow arrives, we'll be on
our way."

Vin asked,
"You already called a tow?"

"My
brother," Harvey yelled. "He's coming."

"Okay.
We'll get an ambulance for you."

Bertrice
said, "He doesn't need an ambulance. He needs to
be cut down. I'll take care of him when we get
home."

"Get me the
ambulance, Officer! I'd rather go to the
hospital than have Florence Nighting-Hell tend
me."

Blinking
rapidly to clear his vision, Vin twisted slightly
away, drew in a few deep breaths, and keyed up his
radio. It was key up or say something pithy, and
it was too early in the call for sarcasm. "11-05,
FC. Be advised he was struck in the chest by a
vehicle."

"10-4."

"It's only
getting better," Casey said into the telephone.
"He got hit in the chest with a vehicle apparently
before getting hung up on the fence. They want
you to be sure to bring some bolt cutters, too."

"We send a
fire engine on all accidents with injury, so that
shouldn't be a problem. Thanks for giving me this
joy, Casey."

"Pretty
much. I'm calling for a salt truck, but you know
County Highways – usually a sixty-minute ETA. Be
careful."

"Wonderful.
I'll tell 'em, Case, but you know how it goes."

"Yeah, I
do." She laughed as she disconnected.

"Ambulance
and Fire Department notified."

"Thanks."

Casey then
paged County Highways, receiving the expected
sixty-minute ETA. The County Highway department
went home earlier in the day, and it took about an
hour for them to report back, get the equipment on
the road, and respond to the scene.

Laughing
silently, he watched his friend, the woman he
considered a sister, try to arrest Bertrice, and
Bertrice tackle the policewoman. Both went
rolling down into the ditch. Bertrice landed face
first in the icy water, with Nina's weight
pressing her further down when they stopped.

The corporal
pulled Bertrice's arms behind her, handcuffed her,
and then dragged them both up out of the ditch.
When they reached the top, Nina marched toward the
other pair, and Bertrice kept trying to drag Nina
back down into the snow. Aggravated, Nina let
Bertrice fall down, dodged the plethora of kicks
and swings still coming her way, and finally
dragged her face first through the snow, all the
while telling her to stand up and quit fighting.
Bertrice continued to struggle, making it a
classic case of resisting arrest and disorderly
conduct, all on the tape in Nina's car camera.

When they
neared Vin, the Texan helped pick up the woman,
and the two crossed the ditch carefully. The two
officers carried the still wiggling Mrs.
Henderson, who continued to yell obscenities and
insults, and headed for Nina's car to put the
woman in the back. Just as they reached the
shoulder, a patrol car pulled to a stop in front
of them.

Buck climbed
out, took one look at the two women, the grinning
Texan, and helped settle Bertrice across the hood
of his vehicle. "Mornin', Mrs. Henderson."

"She's
crazy, Corporal Buck." Bertrice spread her legs
eighteen inches apart, her face sideways against
the smooth hood. "Did you see what she did?"

"Got any
weapons, needles, knives, anything on you that I
should know about, Bertrice?" Nina asked.

"If I did, I
wouldn't tell you. But I don't, bitch."

"Mrs.
Henderson, you are already under arrest for
assaulting me. Let's not add to the charges with
failure to obey, okay?" Nina quickly and
efficiently frisked the woman.

"Tanner."
Buck caught the smiling man's attention. "Go back
to the victim."

Giving Buck
an obvious eye rolling, Vin went back to stand
with Mr. Henderson, the human scarecrow.

Buck then
pulled Mrs. Henderson into a standing position,
subtly blocking Nina. The female corporal let
him, pulling off her Stetson and pouring the water
out. When that was done, she roped up the hair
that escaped the tight knot she kept it in, held
it up with one hand, and then mashed the Stetson
down on top of it.

"11-08, FC."

"11-08."

"Mark the
time as one in custody, female party, assault on
officer, disorderly, and resisting. Additional
charges may follow." This meant that Nina had
formally arrested Mrs. Henderson, and the time of
the arrest, which would be needed for court and
charging documents.

"10-4,
11-08. One in custody. Units okay?"

"Units okay,
FC."

"10-4."

Wilmington
saw what she was doing out of the corner of his
eye, but focused in on the woman handcuffed in
front of him. "Mrs. Henderson, you have anything
to drink tonight?"

"A glass of
wine."

"Just one?"

"One glass."

Nina
coughed.

"Bitch,"
Bertrice mumbled.

Buck said,
"I think Corporal Caswell can help the ambulance
crew, and then come back. Okay?"

"All right,
Corporal Buck. I like you, not her. And I wasn't
drinking too much tonight."

"I
understand, Bertrice, and I appreciate your
cooperation. Let's move over here and get your
statement." He undid the handcuffs.

"Okay."

He helped
the woman stand by the flat stretch of pavement on
the side of his car, closer to the ditch than the
highway, partially protected by the car, and began
field sobriety testing.

Nina watched
the ambulance finish the curve and held her breath
as it slowed. She saw the driver navigate the
straightaway, past Buck's police car closest to
the two vehicles jutting out of the ditch. It
passed Nina's own car, making sure that at least
one lane of traffic stayed open, and came to a
perfect stop, without one single slide.

She was
there to help grab equipment within moments. The
white-haired driver climbed out, took one look at
her, and shook his head. "The troublemaker, I
should've known. You're soaked."

"I know."
She looked down at her uniform, giving a grimace.
"It's a mess."

"Get
yourself dry quick. It's too cold out here to be
wet."

"I will.
Too much to do right now."

"All right,
Cracker." Cracker was Nina's street name, and one
the driver used to remind her she was
concentrating on work more than herself.

Nina nodded
in acknowledgement, and then changed the subject.
"Nice stop with the ambo, Dempsey. Appreciate you
not hitting anything."

"I know how
to drive, kid. Now, whatcha got for me?" Mike
Dempsey grabbed his trauma bag, gave his partner
the backboard, and passed Nina some equipment to
carry. "Thought they said something about a man
hanging on a fence."

"Take a
look." Nina indicated the scene with a tilt of
her head. "He's conscious, breathing, snagged in
four or five places, and states that he was struck
in the chest with a vehicle and launched into the
fence where he is now."

"I'd give it
a seven," Dempsey said. Steve Dempsey was a
retired career ambulance driver and paramedic from
a large Southern city, giving his time and skill
to the local ambulance corps as a volunteer. He
loved the late night calls, and the corps loved
him driving, since they only paid until midnight.
After midnight, the corps switched to volunteers,
with paramedics taking turns being on call if the
volunteers could not get out.

"Please,
Dempsey," his partner Mike Brewster replied.
"Where did he launch from?" Brewster had been
Dempsey's partner for twenty-five years, and they
both had moved their families here when they
retired. The long-time friends had started a
rating system sometime during their long
partnership of what they saw, and what they
believed the incident ranked. That scale ran from
one to ten; one was boring,
and ten was spectacular, and often a cause for
discussion between them as they debated the merits
of each situation they encountered. Their banter
was one of their most endearing qualities, along
with the fact that they still loved to run calls.
Volunteering at night gave them their thrills
without having to give up their retirement.

Nina said,
"From what we can get, on the shoulder right
before the Lincoln went for a nose-dive."

"Hit him
hard enough to clear the ditch and land him
upright," Brewster said. "Plus didn't hit the car
already in the ditch, and lined them up
perfectly. That's definitely a nine."

"How
drunk?" Dempsey looked at Nina.

"You don't
recognize Mr. Henderson under all that mud, ice
water, and down feathers?"

"Vin, I'll
be back in a minute. I'm going to watch Buck
shove her into the car. He's probably gotten her
to admit how much she had tonight." Nina walked
across the ditch, coming to a stop a few feet from
Buck and Bertrice.

Buck looked
hard at the woman he'd just finished taking a
verbal statement from and administering field
sobriety tests. "Bertrice, you had more than one
glass, didn't you?"

"I ain't
saying."

Vin came up
beside Nina. "Hey," he said softly.

She smiled
at him from under a dripping hat, and then focused
on the pair again.

"I didn't
drink that much!" Mrs. Henderson nearly yelled
her protest.

"Bertrice,
did you know your license was revoked?" Buck
looked at Mrs. Henderson with infinite patience.

"Yes."

"Did you
know it's against the law to drive revoked?"

"Yeah."

"Why did you
do it, Bertrice?"

"I like to
drive."

"What about
the alcohol restriction?"

"I knew
about that."

"That you
can't have any drinks at all, and you're not
allowed to drive?"

"I wasn't
riding with Harvey. He's drunk."

Confronted
with this nonsense logic, Buck sighed. "Okay,
Bertrice, turn around. You can sit in the back of
my car."

"I'm still
under arrest?"

"Shouldn't
have taken a swing at me, Mrs. Henderson," Nina
said.

"Corporal
Buck, she's mean, a bitch, and she made me mad.
Doesn't she ever make you mad?"

Nina lifted
a brow in Buck's direction.

Buck
swallowed hard, and then clicked the handcuffs
back on.

It was then,
in that silent, awkward moment, Vin heard the fire
engine coming, and he tipped his head in that
direction. The large engine came from the other
direction, moving down the straightaway toward the
curve, with the lights flashing. He heard the air
brakes applied, and then heard the big wheels lose
traction. "Aw, hell," he muttered.

Disbelieving
eyes watched the engine start to slide, and with
its entire weight coming from behind, it sped up
on the slick ice. In the way was Nina's patrol
car.

"No, aw,
hell, NO!"

CRASH!

The front
end of the engine slammed full force into the back
end of the parked patrol car, giving it a solid
push. That push sent the car across the highway
toward them, the motion following the turn of the
wheels from Vin's proper parking procedure with
the wheels pointed out.

"BUCK!
Move!" Vin yelled this as he threw an arm around
Nina's waist and jumped, taking them both into the
ditch. They landed hard in the water, but Vin did
not let them stay. He half dragged, half carried
his dripping friend up the bank, stopping in a
heap at the base of the barbed wire fence, a few
scant feet from Mr. Henderson, Dempsey, and
Brewster. He looked back to see Buck grab
Bertrice, pick her up, and run to the other end of
his patrol car. Wilmington then skidded
to a stop, a look of horror on his face.

Vin's and
Nina's attention was split between the unoccupied
patrol car coming right at them, and the still
sliding, starting to fishtail, fire engine. The
patrol car spun sideways, having absolutely no
traction on the ice. When one side of the patrol
car reached the dip in the ditch, it was enough to
drop that side, and physics, combined with
gravity, did the rest. The passenger side went down,
and the other side came up and over, ending with
the car on the roof. The sound of shattering
glass filled the air as the light bar was crushed
beneath the weight, and the area darkened
immediately. The A-frame spotlight, cocooned in a
hard, metal case, continued to shine, lighting up
the water with an eerie glow. It showed the water
moving into the car itself, and loose items
started floating inside the vehicle.

Taking their
eyes of the remains of Nina's car, and Vin's
responsibility, they looked down the Highway to
the fire truck, halfway into a fishtail, and
looking like it might go into the ditch and
straight into the vehicles. The other two humans
stayed behind Buck's trunk, hoping that they might
be missed. Fate – or driver skill – smiled on
them, and the engine's big tires caught some
traction, finally stopping at an odd angle down
the street, the back end inches from going into
the ditch right at the start of the curve.

Dempsey
stood above the wet police officers, Vin still
covering Nina with his body, and stared at the
wreckage. The grizzled veteran said, "I'd give it
an eight." His slow drawl made it sound even more
obscene.

"Hell,
Dempsey, that's a nine point five. The patrol
car's toast and the driver of the engine managed
not to put it in the ditch."

"If the
nozzle nuts knew how to drive, and didn't go
pell-mell to every call, after they'd been told
there was ice on the road, then I'd give it the
nine point five."

"Point
taken, but he still didn't completely wreck the
engine, and we don't have four more hosebeater
patients."

"I'd still
give it an eight. You two okay?" Dempsey looked
down at the pair still lying in the snow, both
entirely soaked through to the skin with freezing
water.

"Sure,
Mister." Dempsey chuckled. "As soon as those
four in that engine get their wits back together
and clean their pants, they'll bring along the
bolt cutters. You two ready to get up now?"

"Reckon."
Vin rolled off his friend, and then helped her
up. They both shook water off of themselves, and
brushed the worst of the snow off before it turned
to thin patches of ice on their clothes.

Crackle…
hiss… spit.

Both Vin and
Nina looked down at their lapel mikes, watching
them crackle, the static hiss, and water spurt out
of the box.

"Aw, hell."

"Yup." Nina
looked down, and saw the microphone for her camera
also dripping water. Not that the camera mattered
much now, seeing as it was slowly filming
underwater, but it was equipment that she had to
write a report about to account for its damage.

"Buck's
waving," Vin said. He held a thumb up to the
other corporal, who gave one in return. "Looks
like he realized our radios died."

"Time to
clean out the car. What's left of it." Nina
sighed, and then waded into the water to her car,
bending down and looking in. Her hand dipped into
the icy water, she reached through the broken
window and pulled out one of the most important
pieces of equipment in the car – the shotgun,
usually mounted right behind the driver's head.
When it came out, she turned it over, and water
poured copiously from the barrel.

Vin came
down to help her move everything to a sodden pile
in the snow, including the dashboard camera.